


What Happens On Debris...

by charivari



Series: Whirlceptor [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Empurata, M/M, Oral Sex, Prequel, Whirl Being Whirl, heat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 01:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5355098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charivari/pseuds/charivari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to 'What Happens in Perceptor's Lab...' Basically Whirlceptor first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens On Debris...

**Author's Note:**

> Because I needed to write more Whirlceptor and figured why not their first time and Percy realizing he likes the dirty talk so this happened :)

Springer had tried to talk him out of it. Perceptor hadn't listened. He had agreed to the arrangement, just like the others. Springer offering to take his turn felt like some judgement on his capability. He didn't like being coddled. It didn't matter if it was on the battlefield or this particular situation, Perceptor wanted to prove himself.

Besides, it was only interface. Interface held no more significance to Perceptor than most of the things that obsessed other mecha. This indifference surely meant he could undergo the task and think nothing of it afterward. Similar to having a denta chip pulled.

Considering it was Whirl he was about to frag, that seemed that an appropriate analogy. He held no illusions about the rotormech making it a pleasant experience. Whirl never made anything a pleasant experience. He was loud, coarse and the heat made him even more so.

Perceptor knew he had to be cautious. But he certainly wasn’t intimidated when Whirl appeared at the scheduled time.

"You're turn huh pretty mech."

Perceptor didn’t rise to Whirl’s gleeful tone, nor the heaviness it was saturated in. The strain of heat taking its toll on his systems.

Perceptor had never experienced heat as anything other than a slight discomfort. One he could seek easy distraction by busying himself with his projects. It was only rarely the discomfort grew too niggling that he self-serviced.

Whirl of course was incapable of this. Perceptor did find it interesting that the psychological effects increased significantly as a result of not being able to self-service. Or perhaps Whirl’s usual mental state, which was sketchy at best, played a more contributing factor.

Still, interface was hardly an interest of his in terms of study. Perceptor preferred to complete the task swiftly and return to his actual work.

"How would you like to proceed?" he asked dully.

"Straight to business,” Whirl giggled. But like his voice, it was strained, “Fine nerd, get this panel off me. Sure you’re dyin’ to get a glimpse of Whirl Junior.”

Perceptor went about detaching his panel. Whirl’s spike was already pressurized by the time he succeeded. Perceptor studied it clinically. Average size, Whirl’s coloring. There was nothing particularly deformed about it, though that was hardly surprising.

The Institute had probably seen no reason to disfigure it, not after removing Whirl’s automatic release along with his hands.

“Like what you see?” Whirl crooned, “Gotta admit, never thought I'd see your face so close to my spike.”

He humped forward, spike smearing pre-fluid on Perceptor’s cheek. The scientist presumed Whirl wanted to see him flinch. Instead he fixed him with a stern stare,

“Please refrain from doing that again,” he said, “If you wish me to apply oral stimulation, you only had to ask.”

“That so,” Whirl’s voice was rough but it trembled ever so slightly, “Alright then, suck me off nerd.”

"Very well,” Perceptor took him into his mouth.

Oral interface was preferable as far as he saw it. It avoided the use of his own interface systems.

Whirl’s legs buckled forward,

“Frag,” he groaned, “Greedy aren’t ya?”

Perceptor felt a peculiar flush of heat to his cheeks. He dismissed it as embarrassment. It was hardly a dignified position, not his mouth locked around a spike, Whirl leering down at him,

"You have no idea how many times you've been yammerin' about something and I've thought of jamming my spike down your throat to make you shut up,” Whirl laughed, dark and throaty, "Never imagined you be this good at taking it though.”

He sounded genuinely appreciative. Perceptor was puzzled. Not just by Whirl’s tone either. It was the flare of heat he experienced every time Whirl spoke.

He was beginning to realize it wasn’t simply embarrassment.

It was something else entirely…

He could feel it pooling in his valve. Hot, slick and undeniable as he combated the thrust of Whirl’s hips. The realization made him pause, eliciting a strangled whine from Whirl.

“Why’d you – hey, keep going,” he humped forward, “You hear me. Keep sucking nerd.”

Another flush of heat. Increased wetness at his core.

Perceptor was astounded. His arousal was linked to debasement, to domination?

To speech?

To _Whirl_?

He couldn’t help feeling a little shaken. Appropriate he supposed. But Perceptor prided himself on scientific curiosity. He had to reach some kind of conclusion. So he continued pleasure Whirl, much to the latter’s approval.

“Ugh, good sniper,” he moaned, “Keep it up. You like Whirl’s spike, don’t you pet?”

Perceptor should have blanched at such a derogatory endearment. Instead his arousal grew even more copious, oozing against the constraints of his panel. He fought against an irrational desire to open it. To touch himself.

Despite the conclusions he was forming, he didn’t want to reveal them. Not to Whirl. Mercifully he seemed on the cusp of overload, still babbling, voice heavily saturated with static,

“Frag, nerd, gonna f-fill your tanks right up… Ugh, so _close_ , so… Don’t stop. Percy. I… AHHHH!”

He drove himself forward, spike lodging deep into Perceptor’s intake as he climaxed. Perceptor waited for the ease of transfluid before detaching himself. He wiped his mouth, avoiding optic contact with Whirl, who was hunched over him, venting harshly.

“Not bad nerd,” he said huskily.

Perceptor rose, highly aware of the squelch of fluid between his legs, attempting to mask his discomfort behind a stony expression.

“I believe we’re done here.”

“Are we?” Whirl huffed, a slag-eating smile in his voice.

For a split second Perceptor contemplated requesting interface. He managed to reign in the thought.

“Yes,” he said firmly.

He was relieved Whirl made no fuss as he went about reattaching his panel. His claw did reach for him afterwards, Perceptor narrowly avoiding it. 

Whirl reacted with a chuckle,

“So on edge nerd,” he cooed, “Probably feel better after an overload.”

He turned, waving a claw as he went,

"Shame ya have wait out a few rounds before we can do this again."

Much to his vexation, Perceptor felt something close to agreement.

 


End file.
